Permission to scream excessively loudly. Actually, permission to take myself off to a padded cell, lock the door, affix a strait jacket to my person and throw myself wildly around in a fit of utter insanity.

About ten times this morning I have attempted to get some jobs done. Nothing important. Just little things, like ensuring we have food to eat and trying to ensure our business can actually accept payments. Now, I’m good at multi-tasking. I am more than capable of being on the Asda website whilst also arguing on the phone with an annoying, sanctimonious tw*t from Paypal. I can even bounce DB2 (and wipe his runny nose) at the same time.

However, even my expertise don’t extend to ‘doing the voices’ for DB1’s animal toys. I think, for one, the Paypal guy might be a bit bemused when ‘irate b*tch on the phone’ suddenly and without warning, announces that ‘Hi, I’m tiger…do you want to go to the park?’. He might even think it was some sort of coded, inappropriate invitation (though heaven forbid, given that this particular ‘customer services’ rep sounds like he spends a bit too much time self pleasuring whilst playing Dungeons and Dragons online.)

My resistance to doing animal voices was not met with approval.

DB1’s eyes widened with disbelief. As a second attempt, he tried to insert his kangaroo up my left nostril. Further disbelief registered when I firmly positioned him about a metre backwards. He duly rushed forward, and pushed the kangaroo into my eye instead, with the plaintive bleat ‘mummy, can you play?’.

Now, it doesn’t sound that offensive, does it. That little four word request. I’d be with you on that opinion, if it wasn’t the case that I hear it with more frequency than I do any other words IN THE WORLD.

It used to be very effective. Particularly when accompanied by a pair of woeful, pleading Bambi eyes, all shiny with hope, eyelids fluttering innocently. I used to be unable to say no, especially when accompanied by gently pooched out bottom lip, quivering gently and threatening to burst into floods of disappointed wails at any moment. Then, something changed. DB1 became (and I must summon up courage here to utter the word) a TODDLER. The cute Disney animal appearance gave way to a more demanding, sticky, stroppy countenance. The soft chubby cheeks slimmed to tougher, more tantrummy shapes. The lower lip became more widely used for loud utterances of words such as ‘NO’ and ‘SHAN’T’.

Hence, it lost some of it’s potency,and just became bloody annoying. Especially when said over twenty times in the space of one minute. Even more especially when the conversation with Paypal berk had reached new levels of sarcasm and derision.
Me: And another thing, you’ve clearly made a mistake with our…
DB1: Mummy,can you play?
Me: (pause, whilst regaining train of thought) Our…our bank details. Yes. The account details on…
DB1: Mummy (pulling at my leg) can you play?
Me: (continuing to ignore) on…on our account, um…what was I saying? Oh yes, the details are…
DB1: Mummy! Can you play!
Me: Not now darling, um, yes, er, you’ve got listed that our main contact is…
DB1: MUMMY! (pulling my jeans down, so my arse is hanging out) CAN YOU PLAY?
Me: Look, just stop that please! (pulling jeans up with one hand) No, no, not you. Where was I?
Me: (putting phone down) What!? I am on the phone, Danny. An important conversation. I cant play now. Do you understand? Mummy will play in a moment.
DB1: (after a pause) Mummy…can you play?

That is about the point where I have to physically restrain myself from screaming. Instead, I stick the tv on and ignore the voices in my head (taking on the form of toy tigers, kangaroos etc) all shouting ‘BAD MUMMY. BAD MUMMY. BAD MUMMY.’

But some tv is ok for them…right? Right?